


Man in the Mirror

by Donna_Immaculata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bullying, M/M, Marauders, Marauders' Era, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/pseuds/Donna_Immaculata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has enchanted the Mirror of Erised to lie, and the mistake has powerful consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [MWPP Fuh-Q-Fest](http://mwppfqf.livejournal.com/).

_“It is Peter Pettigrew’s heart’s desire to be fucked up the arse by James Potter.”_

As the words appeared on the piece of parchment, which had so far been merely decorated by the doodles of golden snitches enchanted to zoom around the page and the initials L. and E. in various colours and sizes, James Potter’s mouth fell open in astonishment. In the next moment, the boy’s eyes flashed, his face split in a wide grin, and he turned half-round to give Sirius the thumbs up. Sirius, who was sitting two seats across in the row behind James, had been watching him with avid raptures. As soon as he saw James grinning and nodding his head vigorously, he, too, broke out in a grin and lowered the quill poised over his parchment.

 _“Skive off Divination & meet me in library,”_ James read. _“Research needed before master plan complete.”_

His smile broader than ever, James bent over his desk and began scribbling his answer. _“OK. Bring book & cloak. Action tonight?”_

“Mr Potter!” Professor McGonagall’s voice made him jump in his seat. She sounded annoyed. “Is there any reason why you think you will be able to pass the NEWTs without paying attention in my class?”

“I am paying attention, Professor!” James said in his best innocent tone. “I am taking notes!” The words on his parchment had sunk in and he knew that they had just appeared on Sirius’.

“In that case, Mr Potter, do tell me why you ignore me when I ask you a question?” She asked, her glasses flashing angrily. James bit the inside of his lip.

“I was thinking of how to phrase my answer best?” he supplied hopefully.

“Now that you had enough time to think your answer through very thoroughly, would you mind sharing with the class your knowledge on the preparation stages which have to be fully completed before an Animagus transformation can be performed?”

James’ shoulders relaxed. “I wouldn’t mind, Professor,” he said happily. “I happen to have thought this through very carefully indeed.” From the corner of his eyes he saw Remus’ hand clench around his quill so tightly his knuckles went white. But as he was sure to have the attention of the entire class, he ignored his friend’s discomfort and launched into an animated explanation, spurred on to great heights by the explosions of _“Go, Potter!”_ and _“You show ‘em, Prongs”_ and _“Woof! Woof!”_ and even one crude drawing of a very misshaped stag on his parchment.

**~~**

“You should be more careful,” Remus said in an undertone when they were packing their books into their bags after class. “One day, she will find out. She’s not stupid, you know.”

“Ah, come off it, Remus!” James said carelessly. “No-one in their right mind will believe that any Hogwarts student has managed an illegal Animagus transformation without the teachers’ noticing! McGonagall won’t. – She’s far too proud to be the only one among the staff who can do it-“

“Good class, eh?” Sirius had joined them, grinning broadly and ignoring the longing looks Emmeline Vance and Grace Troutman gave him in passing. “Interesting stuff, these Animagi transformations. Wish I could do them,” he said loudly and winked. Remus rolled his eyes, while James and Peter laughed our loud.

“Yes, very interesting!” said Peter around a Chocolate Frog in his mouth. “I wish I could do them, too!” He looked around as though for approval, still laughing.

“You?” Sirius raised one eyebrow. “Before you can manage anything that hard you should learn transforming your dirty clothes into clean ones. Your robe’s filthy!” Peter’s laughter faltered under Sirius’ gaze and Remus’ mouth narrowed into a thin line.

“What?” said Sirius, shrugging at the disapproving look Remus shot at him. “Listen, Prongs, let’s get out of here. We’ve got business to attend to.”

“You’re not going to Arithmancy?” Remus asked coolly. “And you’re taking Mr Head Boy here along?”

“Yeah, well, I'll read your notes later.” Sirius shrugged again, turning away. “Coming, James?”

“And whose notes will James read?” Remus’ tone had become even more waspish, making Sirius sigh in irritation.

“What’s wrong with you today, Moony?” he asked loudly. “Is it that time of the month again?” Some of the passers-by laughed and one girl whose name James never cared to remember punched Sirius in the ribs, looking half-annoyed by the remark, half-delighted by the excuse it gave her for touching him.

“I don’t need any stinking notes to pass Divination,” said James. “All I have to do is invent some gruesome stories about my own death.” He laughed. “Heh! Last week I told her something about being slavered to death by a werewolf!”

“Did she like it?” asked Sirius, delighted, while Remus fell back, pretending to be doing up his shoelace.

“You bet she did! So next week, I’ll simply tell her I dreamt about Voldemort blasting me to smithereens – and she’ll forget I skived off her class in the first place. Oy, Evans!” he shouted when a pretty red-haired girl passed by, without so much as bothering to grace him with a look. “If I promise to leave Snivellus alone for the entire week, will you go to Hogsmeade with me?”

“When will you understand, Potter, that I would rather go with Snape to Hogsmeade than with you?” she shouted back before disappearing around the corner.

“Do you think she fancies that greasy git?” James asked Sirius with something akin worry. “I mean, she can’t, can she?”

“Nah, mate!” Sirius slung his arm around James’ shoulders. “She’s only baiting you. Don’t worry, you’ll get in her panties in no time at all!”

“Hm,” said James, his eyes fixed on the corridor in which Lily had disappeared. “I dunno… I saw her talking to Snivellus the other day. Actually talking!”

Sirius gave a short laugh, let go of James’ shoulders and leapt up suddenly, his arm outstretched to grab one of Peeves’ legs, which was dangling from the chandelier on which the poltergeist was crouching, clutching a heavy-looking knight’s helmet in both hands. The helmet fell to the floor with a loud clunking noise, and Peeves swooshed up through the ceiling, letting out shrill curses.

“Even if she fancied him,” Sirius said, slinging his bag back over his shoulder, “he wouldn’t fancy her anyway. A filthy botter if I ever saw one!”

James laughed. “Yeah, I bet he’s botting all the Slytherin first-years!”

“Yeah, but they don’t mind much, ‘cause his prick is so small!”

“Speaking of which,” James lowered his voice and looked around checking for possible witnesses. Peter, who had been trotting a few steps behind them, stopped too, looking hopeful. “What, Peter?” James frowned down at him. “Don’t you have a class to attend? Off you hop!” Peter gave them both an uncertain look and strolled off towards the Muggle Studies classroom, casting longing glances over his shoulder. “Are you going to Arithmancy now or not? Cause we haven’t got much time for planning. That mirror might be taken away at any time.”

“Gotta hand in an essay,” Sirius said. “But I'll catch up with you in half an hour or so. I’ll make up a story so she’ll let me off.”

“Couldn’t you have given Remus the essay?”

A shadow spread over Sirius’ face, his eyes darkening suddenly. “Yeah, but…” he said slowly, “I dunno whether he’d just, y’know, not hand it in. Out of spite. Remus’s been acting funny lately.”

“I don’t know whether it occurred to you, Sirius, but couldn’t it have something to do with Snape? You know, last year?”

“Ah, come off it, James!” said Sirius in what was supposed to be an offhand voice. “He can’t still be on about it! It’s been ages ago! And I did apologise.”

“Mmh,” said James noncommittally.

“I think it’s more likely he’s upset they made you Head Boy and not him,” said Sirius, grinning again. “He’s envious.”

“Yeah…”

“Funny, though, it took Dumbledore seven years to realise you’re the only one who can exercise any control over me.”

“And who’s supposed to exercise control over me, then?”

“Evans, o’course!” said Sirius firmly. “Making her your Head Girl was a master plan par excellence!” He punched James in the shoulder and leapt up the first two steps of the staircase leading to the Arithmancy corridor. “She’ll be the doe to tame the stag, I tell you.”

“Evans’s not a doe!” called James after Sirius, who, taking two steps at one time, was already running up the stair case. “She’s a wildcat!”

“Wrrroar!” Sirius whirled around and gave James a parting wave before disappearing around the corner.

**~~**

“So what sort of story did you dish out, eh?” asked James, not lifting his eyes from the text he was reading in the furthest corner of the library, when Sirius flung himself into the chair opposite.

“Told her I’m ill,” Sirius sounded downcast, and James looked up, frowning. Sirius was biting his lip nervously, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

“She bought it?” James’ eyebrows rode up in astonishment. Usually, Sirius’ stories tended to be more fanciful.

“Yeah, well, I was late, and apparently Remus had already told her I was ill and had gone to the hospital wing, and so when I turned up, all I had to do was tell her I only wanted to hand in the essay in person. Y’know.” He shrugged and shoved his hair back from his face irritably.

“So why-“

“She made Remus accompany me to the hospital wing,” Sirius said, letting his chair, which he had been balancing on the two rear legs, fall back with a thud. Several people around them shh-ed angrily and Madam Pince looked up from her desk, but Sirius ignored them. “And he gave me a right talking to. Dunno why! It’s not as though I’ve never skipped classes before!”

“Remus gave you a talking to?”

“Yeah, well, Remus-style. He didn’t actually say much, he only looked disapprovingly. I spent ages trying to figure out what he’s on about.”

“You know, Sirius, I think he is still rather angry about what happened last year-“ James said cautiously, only to be cut short by Sirius.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but- Remus hates Snape. He hates him, honestly! He never says so, and he’d never do anything to Snape himself, but he doesn’t mind if we do. I know he doesn’t!”

“But, has it ever crossed your mind that he doesn’t want to be the one to… eat Snape?” James said seriously. “Cause that’s pretty serious, you know.” Sirius’ eyes flashed at the pun, but James only waved one hand impatiently and said, “Ah, never mind. He’ll come round. Listen, how about if we played Remus the trick? It’d loose him up a bit, seeing as he’s been so uptight lately?”

“Nah!” Sirius said, chewing on one long strand of hair and staring unseeingly at the table. “Not Remus. He’d see right through us. And it’s not as though we could make him believe that his heart’s desire is not getting rid of the werewolf thing - or anything equally boring. Pete’s the right choice all right.”

“Right,” said James, shoving the book across the table. “I’ve found something that’ll help us. Apparently, the mirror works a bit like a simplified form of Legilimency. It scans a person’s feelings and, er, desires and then shows the one most prominent.” He broke off to let Sirius read the passage he indicated. “That’s why it works best with very young people, children – or very old people. Or very simple people. Or people affected by a curse. Or-“

“Get to the point, Prongs!” Sirius rolled his eyes, and added, “Should work well with Wormtail, then. He’s pretty simple.”

“Here, see?” James pointed. “It works best if the person who looks in the mirror has only one thing on their mind. Because usually, a human experiences so many different desires and wishes at once that they cloud and overlap each other. The mirror then sort of searches through the feelings of the person until it finds that one which is predominant at that very moment…”

“So we’ve got to wait for the moment when Peter fantasises about being botted by you and push him in front of the mirror then,” said Sirius grinning. “I bet he does fantasise about it, you know.”

“Ah, shut it!” James shuddered. “That’s disgusting!” Sirius snickered.

“You agreed we’re going to use this image, so don’t complain!”

“I might still back out…”

“Don’t! It’s a brilliant idea, James!” Sirius leaned in and licked his lips, looking, in James’ opinion, too predatory for comfort. “Just imagine poor Pete trying to avoid describing his heart’s desire to you. Or even better,” he slammed his hand on the table, laughing, “trying to make you fulfil his fantasy!” He put on a high-pitched, whining voice, “Oh please, James, I admire you so much, please put your big fat cock up my arse.” James winced, but laughed nevertheless.

“Stop it, Sirius, that’s revolting!”

“Please, James, let me lick your boots while you’re botting me…”

“Ew! And hey – that’s anatomically impossible! He can’t lick my boots when I fuck him!” Several people at the neighbouring tables looked up, wide-eyed. Griselda Jones looked as though she was about to faint. James grinned and waved merrily at her.

“He can,” said Sirius, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “If you take them off first.”

“You seem to have given it quite a lot of thought,” muttered James. “Been thinking of botting Wormy yourself, have you? Why don’t we make you the protagonist of his fantasy?”

“Come off it, Prongs!” said Sirius. “You’re the one who’s his hero! It’s more likely he dreams about you than about me!”

“Yeah, but I don’t have your face nor your muscles, as you’ve pointed out yourself so often,” said James, stretching out one leg and snipping some fluff off his robe casually. “So maybe he admires me for my abilities but wants you for your body?”

“This is not a conversation we are going to have! We’ve agreed on it’s being you who plays the main part in Pete’s show. I’m only here to help.”

James shrugged and didn’t argue further. “First, we’ve got to find out how to make this blasted mirror show what we want it to show. And for this, we must make it think Pete’s more complex than he is.”

Sirius gave a mock groan. “That's the main difficulty. Everything else will be a piece of cake.”

James pulled a thick volume closer and leafed through it thoughtfully. Dust rose from between the pages, twirling in the torch light. Sirius, meanwhile, began sketching rude little pictures on a scrap of parchment, which showed a messy-haired boy with an enormous protruding cock standing imperially over the crouched figure of a blond boy, whose expression of admiration looked remarkably life-like. Sirius waved his wand over the parchment, muttering a spell he hadn’t learned in any class, and his face split into his dog-like grin.

“Look!” he whispered, pushing the parchment over to James. “You’re waggling it!”

James snorted despite himself. “But don’t let it lie around,” he said, sounding a bit worried. “Don’t want anybody to see that.”

“You sound just like Remus,” Sirius said morosely, pulling the parchment back and wiping it clean with a wave of his wand. “Sometimes, you’re no fun, Your Headboyness.”

“You could involve yourself more into the project. We haven’t got much time, you know. How about you read through this book here-“

“I don’t need any stinking book to know what we’re going to do,” said Sirius. He leafed through thick volume absentmindedly, tapping the fingers of his left hand against the tabletop, and began rocking his chair back and forth on its rear legs. James looked up from his book.

“If you’re not helping, Black, then why don’t you just fuck off? I’m not in the mood to deal with your humours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius let his chair fall back, his voice rising dangerously. A couple of faces turned in their direction, some looking annoyed, some worried and others merely interested. James gritted his teeth.

“That means that I’m sick of dealing with your foul moods whenever you’re upset about something Remus said. If you’ve got a problem with him, carry it out with him. Don’t bother me with it!”

Sirius took in a deep breath as though about to launch in a tirade and James instinctively leaned back. But to his amazement, Sirius faltered, exhaled sharply and said, his voice low and hurt, “Remus won’t let me deal with it, James. You know him – he won’t admit there’s anything wrong! He only gives me the look and then watches me scrambling for a key to his annoyance. Like before – I’ve no idea what that was all about! He only said we’re too careless and when I tried to find out what he meant, he gave me this look of his and hmph-ed and didn’t say another word. Fucking stubborn werewolf! It’s not as though we were total idiots, is it?” James shook his head, knowing better than to interrupt Sirius, whose voice began to rise threateningly. “And you know, I’m so fed up with being treated like a naughty child and be given looks instead of answers and always run into this wall of politeness and never know what this is all about!” Quivering with rage, he pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly, his eyes blazing, his lips pulled back in a nasty snarl.

“Where’re you going?”

“Never you mind,” Sirius snarled.

Before James had the chance to react, Sirius stormed past the narrow row of tables, knocking a stack of books to the floor as he went. Madam Pince bustled over, looking enraged, but Sirius had already disappeared through the door, leaving a trail of agitation and uproar behind him. James shook his head and buried himself in his book.

When Sirius returned half an hour later, James had covered his parchment in notes and theories on possible enchantments of the Mirror of Erised. His eyes glowing feverishly, Sirius’ robe was askew and he appeared to have lost his tie, but he had forced his usually so expressive face into a mask of calmness and as soon as he sat down at the table, he picked up the discussion of the mirror’s properties as though nothing had happened.

“How about if we put the befuddlement charm onto the mirror as well as Peter? No, listen,” he raised one hand, silencing James, “Look, there’s Peter, thinking of this and that, and if we befuddle him and the mirror, he wouldn’t know what he’s thinking, right? And so the mirror wouldn’t know what it’s looking for. It’s like when a Legilimens tries to break into a befuddled person’s mind: it’s all one huge mess in there and it’s much harder to find out anything, cause the victims themselves don’t have a clue about what’s going on inside their head. Now imagine the Legilimens were befuddled, too. If all goes all right, the mirror would grab the next best opportunity to show something, and we’ve only got to make sure this something is you fucking Peter up the arse,” he said with a nasty grin.

“Right,” James said slowly. He didn’t like the expression on Sirius’ face, the mixture of predatory hunger and cold calculation, but the plan was already too far gone to back out. Besides, luring Peter into a well set-up trap could only improve everybody’s spirits. Even Remus was bound to find the whole scheme, if not funny, then at least very clever. “While you were gone, I refined that spell we wanted to use for the mirror. I was thinking it’s probably best to set up the image we want Peter to see as, y’know, the picture that the mirror always displays as stand-by mode, instead of casting it in only the one moment when he looks into the mirror. Right?”

“Yeah, so when Peter, with his feeble little brain befuddled, looks into an equally disorientated mirror, the mirror won’t be able to read his mind and will show the default picture,” Sirius nodded. “So how does it go?” He pulled James’ notes across the table and read them through carefully, his lips moving soundlessly as he memorised the spell.

“Did you bring the cloak?” James asked, piling the scattered books into a neat stack and gathering the scraps and pieces of parchment. “We don’t want Filch to catch us loitering around the fifth-floor corridor.”

“The cloak and the map.” Sirius patted his bag affectionately. “Always prepared.”

“Let’s go, then, before Remus and Peter show up.”

“They’re probably at dinner,” said Sirius, shrugging carelessly. He had caught the eye of the only girl who had managed to attract his affection for a period longer than two weeks, and not merely on account of her fabulous breasts (which James strongly suspected to be the main reason). Unfortunately, Viola DeVerre seemed to resist Sirius’ charms effortlessly and had been seen in Hogsmeade with the Ravenclaw prefect Shacklebolt, who, James had to admit, was a considerable opponent in all their Quidditch matches.

“And we are not having dinner,” James said pointedly, tugging at Sirius’ sleeve. Now that they had outlined the theory, he was impatient to go and turn it into practice. “Stop staring at her boobs, that’s pathetic.”

“Says Mr Oh-Evans-you-may-treat-me-like-dirt-if-only-I’m-allowed-to-kiss-the-hem-of-your-robe Potter. Careful whom you call pathetic, mate.”

“Come on, Sirius,” James pulled him behind himself, laughing. “There’s a mirror to enchant and a Wormtail to fuck with.”

**~~**

“Behold James Potter fucking Peter Pettigrew up the arse!” Sirius said triumphantly three hours later, after several failed attempts and one caustic row. James bit his lip, uncertain about the result. It had all seemed such a good concept on paper, and the idea of Peter seeing himself in the mirror in such a humiliating situation while the presumed object of his desire was standing by his side, had certainly seemed very funny. But actually creating the image had made him feel rather queasy. Having Sirius stand beside him, brushing minor details here and there into shape and making rude jokes, was just plain distressing. He cast a brief side glance at his friend. Sirius didn’t seem to feel embarrassed by the situation at all. A broad grin plastered across his face, he flourished his wand in wide, graceful circles to make the figures in the mirror follow his commands. James watched himself, hands on his hips, standing over Peter, who was crouched on his hands and knees, his bare arse raised high up in the air. The figures being displayed in profile, he saw his mirror-self’s cock jut out prominently (“Make it bigger, Sirius, he should know what he’s missing!”), its tip glistening. It all looked very life-like, he had to grant Sirius that. Sirius had always been excellent with animation charms.

“Sirius!” James cleared his throat as his mirror-self gripped his cock with one hand and, throwing his head back, slid the hand along its full length. “I don’t make such funny faces when I wank off,” he said to cover the momentary discomfort. He felt an odd heat rise up from his belly.

“Oh yes you do, Prongs,” said Sirius in a voice that seemed rather thicker than normal. He stared in the mirror for a few moments, during which James was staring at a point right above Sirius’ left shoulder blade, willing his blush away, and then turned round, his mouth curving up in a broad smile.

“Everything’s ready for the big show,” he said in a cheerful tone which didn’t sound quite genuine. “Let’s go and find Wormtail!”

“What about Remus?” asked James, bravely ignoring the odd glint in Sirius’ eyes and the entirely unwanted erection raging between his own legs. Behind Sirius, he could see his mirror-self moving lazily, deliberately. Still maintaining his overly cheerful air, Sirius bustled to the corner where he had previously dumped his bag and picked up the map.

“What about him?” he asked.

“We don’t want him to come along, do we?” said James, making use of the opportune moment when Sirius faced away from him to adjust himself discreetly.

“Leave it to me,” said Sirius, who was scanning the map carefully. “All right, Filch is in the West Tower. Let’s fetch Wormy!”

**~~**

“Where are we going, Prongs?” asked Peter, trotting at James’ side through the dark corridors, past the pictures of the three medieval knights, the al fresco party with the fat duchess and the portrait of the grim looking wizard who had been the shortest lived headmaster of Hogwarts (August to December 1204). Peter had been surprised when James had suggested sneaking out from the dormitory without either Sirius or Remus, but he was much too glad to spend some time alone with James to question his motives. Dark-haired, slim and graceful, with a faint smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, James was everything Peter was not. But by being with him, Peter had found out years ago, he could pretend to have a share of him.

They stepped through a hidden tapestry and began slowly climbing up the steep staircase which looked as though it had not been used for many years. When they reached the landing, James turned around, looking serious and solemn, and said in a hushed voice, “Can you keep a secret, Peter?”

Peter really wanted to say something witty and clever in response, to point out that he had been keeping the knowledge of Remus’ condition, and their all Animagus identities secret for several years now, but the earnest sound of James’ voice and the way his eyes had gone very dark seemed to throttle his throat and allowed not more than a feeble nod. James kept staring at him for a moment, and then, as though coming up from a trance, he, too, gave a curt nod and pushed open the door that led them into-

“The fifth floor corridor,” said James, his voice still very low. “Now, Peter, have you ever wondered what your true heart’s desire is?” Peter shot him a bewildered look, and James, frowning slightly, added, “The thing that you want more than anything else in the world? Do you know what it is?”

“What do you mean, James?” Peter had begun to feel rather disconcerted. He longed for so many things: better grades, more magical talents, a girlfriend, losing weight, being taller, slimmer, stronger, wittier, cooler... More like James. Less like, well, Peter.

“I mean,” said James in a voice of conspiratorial whisper, “that in a minute, you will be able to establish without a doubt what your true heart’s desire is. Behold, Peter,” he put his arm around Peter’s shoulder and pushed him through a door to their left. “The Mirror of Erised!”

Peter’s gasped in wordless admiration. He had to tilt his head to look up at the mirror, which was almost as high as the ceiling. When he squinted his eyes, he could just read the inscription running around the top of the ornate gold frame: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

“What…” he said, “what does this mean?”

“It means, Peter,” James tightened his grip around Peter’s shoulders and lead him towards the mirror, “it means this mirror shows you what you desire most in the world. It never lies, mind,” he added, grinning.

A tight knot had begun to form in the pit of his stomach which Peter could not really explain, because, surely, seeing his heart’s desire displayed couldn't be a bad thing, could it? And yet he felt all the anxiety again that had paralysed his legs and tightened his throat all those years back when his name had been announced in front of the entire school and he’d had to cross the Great Hall to put on the Sorting Hat.

To mask his unease, Peter shook off James’ arm asked in what he was hoping was an offhand voice, “What d’you see in the mirror, then?”

“Oh, y’know, this and that.” James grinned broadly. “I’m Quidditch Captain on the Auror team at the Ministry. Oh, and Evans is my biggest fan. She’s positively swooning at my feet, mate!”

Peter returned the grin hesitantly and, imitating James’ confident swagger, walked across the room to the mirror.

It was possibly the most embarrassing moment in his life.

Could he have thought rationally at that point, Peter would have felt that the word ‘blush’ was not enough to describe the sudden, painful rush of blood to his head at a pace so quick he feared it would burst out of his mouth and eyes. His knees buckled and there was a thrumming in his ears which faded out James’ words. James strolled over and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“What’s up, Pete? Something wrong with your heart’s desire?”

It was impossible to tell James the truth. But even as Peter’s thoughts were running in circles and his dry tongue got stuck to his palate, he noticed that the reflection had become somewhat blurry, just like a badly shot wizard picture, and that mirror James had stopped doing – that – to mirror Peter (he couldn’t think of that reflection as his self). It almost seemed as though the picture was about to change. But in that moment, James stepped forward like he wanted to screen the sight from Peter. Peter felt James’ sleeve brush against his and he thought he had heard James whisper something, and saw a spell hit the mirror, the smooth surface of which rippled just like water before it sent a jet of light back at them, hitting James square in the chest and trickling over Peter. He heard James drawing a sharp breath and letting it out with a hissed, “Oh, shhhit!” and then, his mind went blank and fuzzy.

**~~**

“James?” says Peter. “What happened?” Words form sluggishly in his brain, as though they don’t quite belong to him. They wobble and stagger with the grace of newly born giraffes and Peter thinks that maybe that’s why he’s got no control over them; he gives them birth by pronouncing them, as when they leave his mouth, they’re like his children, his and yet not his. The thought makes him giggle a bit and he turns to share it with James.

“James?” Peter frowns as his gaze falls on the other boy. James is quite still, staring transfixed at the mirror, and in the mirror-

Peter shudders. He blinks once, twice, trying to clear his vision and his thoughts, but the image of James’ rocking hips and swollen cock doesn’t fade. “What…” says Peter, and then, “Why…?” and even as the words stagger out of his mouth, the phrase ‘heart’s desire’ begins forming in his brain, and suddenly, Peter feels desire wash over him in a hot wave, and he knows with painful intensity that he must have sex with James right now, before his bones melt and his cock bursts.

In the next moment, Peter hardly knows how, he finds himself tugging sharply at James’ robes, forcing the – taller, stronger - boy down to the floor almost effortlessly. James doesn’t put up a fight. His expression is docile and almost vacant; Peter can see it even through the fog in his brain. He watches his hands push James to the floor, face-down, holds him by the hair and pulls up his robes over his arse. James makes a strangled mewling sound, but he doesn’t resist as Peter pulls down his trousers and pants. Peter stares down at the pale flesh in amazement. James turns his head, trying to make eye contact, but Peter pushes down his head roughly and coaxes James’ hips up higher, mirroring, no reversing the actions in the mirror. He shoves his knee between James’ legs, forcing them apart. He thinks he’s never in his life been so hard.

James is gasping frantically, and Peter frees his own cock from the confines of his robes and tugs it sharply, watching it swell and throb familiarly. His legs are trembling, and he lets himself fall down to his knees, right between James’ wide-spread legs. From this position, he can distinctly see the soft hairs on James’ buttocks, the dark curve of the cleft and – Peter swallows - the pink flesh in-between. It looks weird, entirely unfamiliar and, in a moment of panic, Peter wonders where he is supposed to put his cock. There isn’t enough space. He reaches out one trembling hand to feel around. When the cold, sweaty finger touches his heated flesh, James gives a sudden hiss and recoils, but Peter grabs him firmly by the hip and pulls him back so sharply that the tip of his cock makes contact with James’ thigh. Both boys moan hotly, and as Peter pulls back a bit, he sees a thin thread of pre-come glistening between his cock and James’ thigh.

One hand curled around James’ hip, Peter begins probing the area in earnest. He touches soft hair and flesh that feels delicate and vulnerable, and then, his finger encounters what he thinks must be James’ arsehole. But there is no way he would fit in there. Even though his cock isn’t quite as huge as the one of mirror-James, it is still much thicker than his finger, and even his finger doesn’t fit in. Peter pants in effort, trying to push his index inside James, who has begun yelping, trying to scramble away from the intrusion. He only manages to squeeze up to the first digit before the muscle closes around him. “Fuck,” he mutters. His balls are hurting already, and he is sure he can come from fingering James alone, but he is desperate to bury himself in this tight heat at least once, even if ever so briefly. He pushes his finger in vigorously, and James gives a muffled scream and jerks forward. Peter’s hand slips off and brushes over James’ balls. They are cool to the touch, and Peter slides his finger tips experimentally over the soft skin, covered in sparse hair. James begins mewling again and rocking his hips frantically, rubbing himself on Peter’s fingers, which, growing bolder, travel all the way up James’ cock. It is hot and sticky and too dry, and Peter licks his palm to make it slide better along the length, and then an idea occurs and he withdraws his hand, spits onto his palm and spread his spit around James’ arsehole. He looks down at his hand hesitantly, before he lifts it back to his mouth and sucks on his index finger. When he presses it back into James’ cleft, the other boy shudders and presses back, ever so slightly, but it is enough for Peter to regain his vigour and this time, he pushes his finger all the way up.

James gives a sharp cry, which hardly registers with Peter. He sees his finger disappear inside James, sees the pink flesh close tightly around his knuckle and thinks, dizzily, that he has to put his cock inside there, too, because otherwise he must surely die.

There are sounds, like voices, but thinner, fainter, and Peter can hardly hear them through the pounding of blood in his ears. He pulls out his finger. The sounds grow louder, and he realises it’s James’ voice, and that James is babbling something, mewling. But Peter cannot listen now. His cock is pounding and he knows he has to shove it in there. His mouth is too dry, and he makes this sucking thing with his tongue and the inside of his mouth, willing his glands to produce more saliva. He waits a moment and then spits it all onto his palm and smears it over James’ arse cleft.

When the tip of his cock nudges James’ flesh, James’ tries to crawl away, but he is stopped by the wall and merely crushes to the floor, panting. Peter’s fingers are digging into the skin of James’ hip and he urges him back up and watches the arse cheeks part again, part for him, Peter, and he chokes with lust. With his free hand, he directs the head of his cock towards the opening and panics slightly when he realises he can’t find it. James trembles, and Peter tilts his head, frustrated, to get a better look, jabbing blindly in the effort of burying himself in James. He can’t see what he’s doing, and so he lets go of James’ hip and feels around with his finger again. The hole is right there under his finger. Peter’s other hand guides his cock, positions it, and only when he thrusts inside does he realise how tight James really is. Something seems to tear, James cries out, and Peter’s cock is momentarily trapped in a vice grip which hurts, but is also good and Peter feels his blood rush through him and erupt violently in his cock, which shoots his orgasm out of him in sharp spurts.

Peter blinks and shakes his head bemusedly. His temple is pounding and he realises he’s lying on the hard stone. He must have collapsed, he thinks, raising himself unsteadily. Beside him, James is curled up and shivering, with his trousers and underpants trapped around his knees. Peter can see some whitish fluid dribble from between James’ thighs and his eyes widen as he realises it’s his own spunk. The idea makes his head reel and he thinks he might get sick, but in the next moment, he recognises his vertigo for excitement and gasps. He stretches out one finger and dips it gingerly in his semen. It is drying already.

His head is much clearer than before and Peter realises how important it is to obliterate all traces of what happened. Retrieving his wand from the folds of his robe he crawls over to James. A sudden draft makes him shiver, and in a very unexpected region at that. No wonder, his trousers are open and his cock is hanging out. He tucks it back in before leaning over James, who lies deadly, unnaturally still.

James’ eyes are closed and his face is very white and there is sick around his mouth. It’s not much, and Peter wipes it away with his sleeve. He then cleans James’ arse and legs from the spunk and pulls James’ pants and trousers back up, panting with effort because James is so heavy. James gives a soft moan.

Peter swallows hard when James’ eyelids flutter open. It takes him a minute to focus, but when his gaze meets Peter’s, James’ eyes widen in shock before they flicker, ever so briefly, to the mirror. Gathering his robes around him awkwardly, James scrambles away from Peter, his face frozen in horror, and Peter knows this is the end.

When it happens it’s beyond his control. He watches his arms come up and his wand point at James’ face as though in slow motion, and his mouth forms the words before his mind has caught up. James flinches, and Peter’s hoarse “Obliviate” hits him. And hits him again, because Peter wants to make sure he wipes all the memory of it from James’ mind. He would burn it out if he could, but he can’t and so he sends a third “Obliviate” at his friend, who by that time is lolling bonelessly against the wall.

Not a minute too early. The door is thrown open with a bang, and Sirius dashes into the room, looking wild, followed by Remus, who is pale and angry. Sirius drops to his knees beside James and shakes him roughly by the shoulders, while Remus takes in the whole scene. There is one moment, when Remus’ eyes meet his, that Peter fears he is found out. Remus thinks clearly and calculates coldly, Peter knows, and he isn’t sure how good his sense of smell really is, and the room must reek of spunk, but Remus’ gaze travels further and stops at the mirror. His eyes narrow.

“What is it with him?” Sirius asks, cradling the side of James’ face and trying to force him to focus at him. “Why is he like this?”

The words are stumbling out of his mouth once again, but this time, they don’t resemble shaky giraffe babies. They are firm and steady and even as he speaks, Peter realises that something has changed. “I think it’s the spell,” he says. “Prongs sent a spell at the mirror and it rebounded.”

Remus and Sirius are both looking at the mirror now, where he and James are performing the same rocking movement over and over again. It should be humiliating, Peter thinks vaguely, but it isn’t. Because it’s not true.

Remus scowls at Sirius, who shrugs and wipes the mirror clean with a flick of his wand, still cradling James’ head. Remus starts to speak, and Sirius listens, uncharacteristically subdued, but Peter doesn’t. He can’t. The pounding is back in his ears. But this time, it is different. Peter doesn’t know what it means, as he has never experienced it before. It is strong and heady and dizzying, but it doesn’t resemble fear or anxiety or embarrassment, familiar feelings that have accompanied him since always. His stomach gives a lurch when Sirius finally manages to rouse James. But James merely shakes his head and gets up, without trying to hex Peter, and he knows he is safe.

And then he knows it: triumph. Tagging along after Sirius and Remus, who steady James between them, Peter devours the new and exhilarating feeling that makes his head spin and his stomach flutter. He can taste the triumph on his tongue and feel it pulse in his blood stream. He can never be dashing and clever and sophisticated like his friends. He can never discard Peter. But today, James was at his mercy because he sees ‘just’ Peter when he looks at him just as others see ‘just’ a rat when they look at Wormtail. His weakness, Peter thinks, is his strength. From this day on, he knows that ‘just’ Peter will be his disguise to carry him through the years to come.


End file.
